I'm Just Not a Group Person

I'd mentioned Yuki's parties to you before, hadn't I? The ones she doesn't invite me to anymore?

And honestly... I don't mind at all.

Yuki is someone who lives nearby and, over the years, has more or less become a friend. (Although these days I'm not entirely sure what I even mean by the word friend anymore.)

We used to run into each other regularly while walking our dogs, and that's how we got to know each other. At first it was just the occasional chat, until one day she invited me over for dinner. Two other women from the neighborhood were there as well. I already knew one of them from our own dog-walking conversations. So there were four of us altogether.

We had cheese fondue.

That's exactly the kind of setting I enjoy. If you've been reading my blog for a while, you've probably noticed that I love talking. Actually, it's more than that—I love exchanging ideas and experiences. I'm endlessly curious about how other people experience the world compared to the way I do, and I enjoy sharing my own perspective too, just to see what someone else makes of it.

I think Yuki enjoyed that first real conversation—the kind that's a little deeper than small talk at the dog park. Because after that, she invited me over more often, sometimes just the two of us. Those evenings were lovely: a good glass of wine, something to nibble on, maybe a nice piece of cheese.

One thing I've always appreciated about Yuki is that, in those one-on-one conversations, she's completely nonjudgmental, even though I know we disagree on quite a few things—sometimes fundamentally. But something changes when she's in a group. And by "group," I don't even mean a big one. Three people is enough. In groups, she becomes much more politically correct.
And my opinions don't always line up with that.

Which, in turn, changes me too. I'm not comfortable in groups. Or rather—in medium-sized groups.

Small groups, like the four of us around that fondue pot, are fine. And surprisingly, large groups are okay too. In a big crowd I can disappear into the background, find one person or a small cluster of people, and have a real conversation.

But that awkward middle ground—a group that's too large to feel intimate but still too small to break up naturally into little conversations?
That's my personal nightmare.
That's where group dynamics take over.

And group dynamics scare me.
Part of that goes back to my childhood. I was bullied relentlessly throughout my teenage years. That alone is enough to make me anxious in groups before anyone has even said a word.
But there's another reason too—and maybe it's connected to the bullying, maybe it isn't. I don't think I fully understand group dynamics. And when I do understand them, I often don't agree with them.

As far as I can tell, conformity tends to be highly valued in many groups.

That's a problem for me.
Quite often I have no idea what exactly everyone is expected to conform to. And even when I do recognize the unwritten rules, I don't necessarily understand why they should exist—or why I should follow them.
I'm a little blind to those invisible rules that seem to spring up almost instantly whenever people get together. And on the occasions when I do notice them, I sometimes disagree with them and don't particularly feel like conforming.

So no...

I'm just not a group person.
And Yuki has figured that out too.

After several enjoyable evenings together—either just the two of us or in small groups of four or so—she invited me to one of her cooking parties.

She transforms her open kitchen—which by now occupies more than half of her living room—into a sort of classroom. She invites a neighbor who's originally from another country to demonstrate one of their traditional recipes, and the rest of us get to learn something new. Afterwards we all sit down together, open a bottle of wine, and enjoy the meal.

It's actually a wonderful idea.

"Diana," Yuki asked me during the very first one I attended, "why are you so quiet?"
She'd expected me to participate the way I do in smaller groups. And if I do say so myself, I can be pretty entertaining. I always have something to talk about—I never seem to run out of inspiration.
And I probably ask even more questions than I answer. As I said, I'm endlessly fascinated by how other people think, what drives them, how they experience life.

But in larger groups?
I go quiet.

Because I'm afraid I'll miss another one of those unwritten rules.
Or I'll accidentally say something that crosses a line for someone—or several people—without having the slightest idea I'd done anything wrong. Or maybe I'll unknowingly do—or fail to do—something that doesn't fit the group's expectations.
And suddenly I'll have the whole group turning against me.

It's not even that I'm especially afraid for myself anymore.
I've been bullied before. Adults are rarely as cruel as teenagers can be. I've survived it once already. These days I don't suffer from it the way I used to.
Mostly I just think: Here we go again.

No...

What really frightens me is the possibility that I'll be the one who creates tension, who makes everyone uncomfortable, who ends up ruining the evening for everyone else.
And then there's the practical side of it. These are all neighbors. I still have to walk my dog around here. I don't want every single walk to come with the thought: I hope I don't run into anyone.

So...

Do I actually enjoy those parties?
To be honest, I usually come home with a headache. And a painfully bloated stomach.

Stress.

So why do I keep going?
Hope, mostly.
Against my better judgment, I always hope that maybe this time I'll meet people I genuinely connect with.
But these aren't really the right circumstances for me to meet people.

It doesn't feel like meeting anyone when you don't feel free to be yourself.

I mostly go because I want to make Yuki happy. But after two or three of those cooking parties...
She stopped inviting me.

And, honestly? I don't mind at all.
If anything, I feel relieved rather than rejected.

I may even have told Yuki, during one of our cheese-and-wine evenings together, that I'm simply not a group person. Or maybe I didn't. It's entirely possible.
The thing is, once a night involves good wine, my memory of exactly what was—or wasn't—said tends to get a little fuzzy. 😜🍷

Photo: Priscilla Du Preez